


Girls

by ellewrites



Series: Little Wonders [4]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, F/M, Internalized Homophobia, Suicidal Ideation, Underage Smoking, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, mentioned drug use by background characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-06-22 05:41:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19660981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellewrites/pseuds/ellewrites
Summary: Betty was easy and Bruce liked that she was easy. He didn’t have to try very hard – all he had to do was pay a little attention to her, listen to her when she talked and give it to her like he cared about her and it was more than her parents had ever done. It made him feel good about himself. It made him feel like a good person, even though he wasn’t.





	Girls

**Author's Note:**

> Who knows at this point. Guess I’ll just be posting one of these every couple years.

Betty’s house was dark and imposing at night and Bruce only ever came at night, when her dad was out of town and her mom was wasted on wine and painkillers and wouldn’t hear him pull up on his piece of shit motorcycle and wouldn’t care even if she did. 

Bruce knew to go around to the backdoor, fingers flexing in the fingerless leather gloves he’d found in the pockets of the leather jacket he’d picked up for fifteen dollars at Goodwill after he’d managed to get the wrecked bike that his dad let him have from his shop running again. All of the shitty salary his dad paid him went to parts and cigarettes so the jacket was a lucky find and he loved those stupid gloves. They made him feel as dangerous as he wanted to be, as dangerous as he was on the inside.

The backdoor opened and Betty’s outline was framed in yellow light, like a halo, but she was no angel. She was more of a succubus, feeding off of him as she wished – but Bruce didn’t care. Why should he care?

Her nose wrinkled as she opened the screen door. “You’ve been smoking.”

Bruce just shrugged but he didn’t apologize. She leveled a glare at him but she let him in anyway. He knew she would. It wasn’t like he had called her. He never called her. 

The TV was on in the living room, turned up way too loud, and through the doorway Bruce could see her mother in a big fluffy robe passed out on the couch. It always tweaked some part of him to see her, looking so peaceful and still. He didn’t really remember the way his mother looked except for in the few photos he’d had of her but he imagined that’s what she looked like, surrounded by velvet – calm and serene, her hair done in curls, skin unearthly and pale. 

He looked away. 

The little dog that never got the attention it wanted followed at his heels as they climbed the stairs to her room, a weird combination of little girl painted goth – rosebud wallpaper and heavy metal band posters, galaxy print sheets on a delicate canopy bed. She had so much  _ stuff _ compared to him – pictures and knick knacks and books and CDs... It was a visual cacophony. Well – when he looked at her, she was dissonance herself. 

They were dating – maybe. Bruce didn’t know and he didn’t really care he just went along with it because he liked her smile and the way she jabbed at him but never hard enough to really hurt and because she didn’t exactly fit in. Tony was first string now and he was always at practice or with the guys or Pepper or someone and Bruce was lonely and Betty liked him so he liked her.

For a moment they stood there, awkward and uncertain. It was how it always was. Bruce didn’t know how to lead like Betty wanted and he had to wait for her. 

She stepped up to him, slowly, all dark hair and dark eyes in a long black t-shirt that went to her thighs, and she slipped her hands beneath his jacket, wrapping them around his lanky torso and pulling him close to her, burying her face in his neck. 

Bruce had gotten used to it, now – the physical contact. He didn’t flinch or shy away like he used to but it was still weird to be touched like that and he wondered what was wrong with him. 

“You were at the game,” she accused, pulling back to look up at him with a pointed stare, dark eyes disappointed as she slid the jacket off his shoulders and it fell onto the floor.

Bruce just looked away, embarrassed. Betty knew what he’d say but she didn’t understand. He liked to stand at the edge of the bleachers and smoke and listen to the band and watch Tony play. Tony was still his only real friend and he liked to be there, liked to support him – even if Tony didn’t know. It was dumb and he knew it was dumb and she only made him feel dumber. 

“I don’t know why you care,” she said, running a thumb along his jaw. “People like him – they don’t care about us.”

Bruce bit his tongue, thinking of all the time they’d spent together, joking around, sharing cigarettes and the booze he’d steal from his dad. How he knew he could tell Tony anything – even though he didn’t. Betty didn’t like Tony – she didn’t understand. 

“Don’t pout,” she said as she brushed the hair from his face, leaning up to kiss him.

Kissing Betty was... nice? He never quite felt like he knew what he was doing but she didn’t seem to mind and it didn’t really matter because he liked the way she was into him, the way she wanted to be closer – liked the way he didn’t have to ask, didn’t have to feel guilty or ashamed. 

She pushed him back on the bed and crawled into his lap, kissing at his ear, his neck, his collarbone. And he just held her, never sure what to do. He knew he should like it, knew he should want it, and so he tried. His skin tingled everywhere her lips touched and it helped. It helped. 

Bruce fumbled with the clasp of her bra beneath the t-shirt, never really getting the hang of it but going through the motions despite that, listening to her giggle at his awkwardness. 

“Nevermind that,” she whispered, sliding his hands down her body, down to her panties. “I’ve been waiting.”

He touched her panties and felt her flighty little intake of breath, could tell they were damp and she was already wet. He slipped his fingers beneath the thin strip of panty, running his fingers against her, feeling her breathing change to needy anticipation before he slipped them inside.

Fingering her made him hard but he was never really sure if it was Betty herself or just biology. He'd been harder sharing a cigarette with Tony, though he didn't really like to think about that. He didn’t like to think about Tony when he was with Betty – he tried to think about her breasts instead, the way her shirt framed them as her chest rose and fell, quivering as he pulled his fingers out and ran them up to her clit. She jolted and laughed, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him again. 

Betty was easy and Bruce liked that she was easy. He didn’t have to try very hard – all he had to do was pay a little attention to her, listen to her when she talked and give it to her like he cared about her and it was more than her parents had ever done. It made him feel good about himself. It made him feel like a good person, even though he wasn’t.

She handed him a condom and he slid his pants off his hips, ripped open the foil to the smell of latex and lube. Betty was on birth control but she always had a condom and Bruce wasn’t going to tell her no. He really didn’t care that much.

Bruce didn’t kiss her while they fucked but she never seemed to care. He closed his eyes and pretended he was somewhere else, someone else, focusing on the feeling of it as she slid her hand between their bodies, helping herself off. Sometimes he thought he should feel guilty that he didn’t care enough to do it by himself but she didn’t seem to care about that either. She just wanted to be touched, wanted to be needed. 

He just didn’t need her like she wanted him to. 

Betty lay in bed when he was done, watching as he went to the bathroom and wiped himself off, disposed of the condom. She always looked happy when he came back, sweaty and smiling, and he slipped back on his pants and lay down next to her. Not because he wanted to stay, but he knew that’s what she wanted. 

She liked to tuck herself up against him, up under his arm, and scroll through her phone and share dirt Bruce didn’t care about on all the girls in her SnapChat feed and Bruce would listen with half an ear and wish he had a cigarette as he scrolled through his own phone. 

“I just can’t believe she sits there and acts so holier than though, like she’s never had sex, when she’s fucked half the football team,” Betty was saying as he scrolled across a picture of Tony and Pepper from tonight. 

He was unbelievably handsome under the bright football lights, grinning, face pink with exertion, covered in sweat, his hair a fucking mess, holding his helmet against his thigh with his other arm thrown over Pepper’s shoulder. She was smiling too, her hair tied up with a big cheerleader’s bow, wearing that that ridiculously juvenile looking cheerleader’s outfit and...

It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen them before. He watched them kiss in the hallway, up against the lockers, Tony’s big grin as he turned towards one of his buddies, punching him in the arm. He’d seen her in Tony’s football jersey on Fridays, bragging with the other girls, so self assured of her place in his world. He’d seen Tony on the field, dripping sweat and hot as hell, or lifting his shirt in the weight room to wipe at his face, and it was no different than this, not really but... 

But for some reason, this time, something in him broke and his chest was so tight he could barely breathe and he thought he might start to cry. 

“Bruce?” Betty asked after a minute and he disentangled himself from her, begging off with an apology as he dressed then stumbled out into the cool night air. 

He lit up, fingers shaking, and he tried to keep his face from contorting because he didn’t really want to cry. Bruce wanted to get on his bike and ride until his face was numb and he couldn’t feel anything anymore. But he couldn’t outrun this – this feeling – and it didn’t matter how fast he pushed the bike or how much he tried to bury it. He could taste the saline on his lips and the road lights were all blurry but he didn’t care that he could hardly see the road. 

If he wrecked right here at least it would be over. 


End file.
